Roberto stands across from me and raises his glass. I lick my dry lips and look at him through lowered lashes, trying to see the man I'm supposed to marry through the eyes of a bride, not someone looking at one of my father's business friends.
His suit fits like a second skin. He’s twenty-six, eight years older than me. Strangely, part of me is relieved. Probably because I always knew this day would come, and I’m partially relieved that he's not sixty. He's sharp-jawed and good-looking in a cold, sculpted way, but I also notice that his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. Still, I suppose it could have been worse.
I throw a glance in the direction of where Raffael stood a few minutes ago, but the spot is as empty as my heart. I call myself a silly girl, because… because he and I could never be. He's one of my father's soldiers, and I'm a mafia princess. That didn't stop me from daydreaming through. From dreaming that Raffael would confess his undying love for me, and my father would grant him my hand because he was so grateful for Raffael saving me that day.
Like I said. Silly.
If I want to have any chance of a happy life, I need to stop thinking about Raffael right now. Cut him out of my heart and my thoughts like he has so obviously done me. He called me a mistake, after all. I just don't understand why my stupid heart won't get the message.
Roberto walks around the table, toward me. My heart beats a little faster at being under the scrutiny of twenty pairs of eyes. My father and brother are just two of many, but they are the ones I need to please the most if I don't want to finish the night black and blue. I need to plaster a smile on my face right now. It forms, but it's hard to maintain, almost harder than watchingRoberto approach and not staring at the empty spot by the wall.
"Sophia," he says in a smooth voice, going down on one knee and holding out a black velvet box.
It’s all wrong. Too quiet. Too rehearsed. Too formal for a proposal that isn’t a choice. I smile anyway, but it must look a bit strained, because I hear my father’s chair creak and Angelo’s sharp inhale. I take these as warning signs, so I smile more, trying to force it to reach my eyes, because my ribs remember what happens when I don’t.
Roberto opens the box, and inside sits a diamond the size of a small planet, nestled in platinum. The ring catches the light and throws it across my skin like fire.
"Will you honor me by accepting this symbol of our union?" he asks.
His tone is perfect. Elegant. Respectful. Every inch the gentleman.
I swallow and nod. "Yes. Thank you."
He takes my hand and slips the ring onto my finger with the reverence of a priest, then lifts it and presses his lips to my knuckles.
The room erupts in raucous applause, but I barely hear it over the ringing in my ears. He rises smoothly and offers me his arm like I’m some delicate heiress in a period film. I take it because I’m supposed to. Because my father is watching, and the eyes of New York’s most powerful men are drilling into my back.
Roberto leads me out onto the terrace, and for a moment I can breathe again.
"You look beautiful tonight," he says, his voice warm, polite. "I hope the announcement didn’t upset you."
Upset me? Please—learning my life’s been auctioned off like a commodity isn’tupsetting. It’s terrifying. "No," I lie. "My father told me."
He smiles, a small, knowing smile. "I wanted to speak with you first. But your father preferred the dramatic route."
Of course he did.
Roberto stops near the edge of the balustrade. The garden below us glows with soft lights, as if pretending we’re not standing at the edge of a cage. People will take pictures tonight and fold them into stories that will last longer than I will remember. I’m not here to fall in love, I’m here to perform civility, to practice smiling while my life is priced and parceled. The expectation isn’t subtle: be presentable, be fertile, be pliant, produce heirs, secure alliances, never speak inconvenient truths. The other daughters had birthdays and mistakes and time to find themselves; they learned the role in increments. I’m being made to fit the costume before I’ve finished growing into my own skin, and that difference tastes like theft.
"I know this isn’t what you expected," he continues.
"It did come as… a surprise," I answer politely, because if my mother taught me anything, it is to be polite and to smile when your heart is breaking.
He doesn’t bristle. In fact, his lips tilt in the faintest curve of amusement.
"I meant no disrespect." I hasten to add.
He turns to me and studies my face with those cool, calculating eyes. "I don’t intend to hurt you, Sophia. This doesn’t have to be a prison sentence. You’ll have freedom, comfort, and security. I promise I’ll treat you well."
He says it like a transaction—a promise of terms and conditions. But there’s something deeper, too—a sincerity just under the surface. Like maybe—just maybe—he doesn’t want to be hated either. Maybe he's being forced into this marriage as much as I am. And maybe I should give him a chance. Giveusa chance after all, this is how our lives work.
He’s handsome. Polished. Charming, and he hasn’t looked at me with hunger or contempt. He even took the time to speak privately.
All I ever heard were accusations from Cammie about her brother, but I never saw him mistreating her. Then again, I hardly ever saw him. Can I risk not believing her and giving this man a chance?
And why does every part of me still ache for a man who won’t even look at me?
Because he did save you,my heart whispersbecause he held your hand when no one else would. Because he made you feel like you mattered—even if it was just once. And because he kissed you like no man ever will again.
